


Electricity (When You Touch Me)

by badthingfine_as_hell



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Dysfunctional Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Flashbacks, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:35:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badthingfine_as_hell/pseuds/badthingfine_as_hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley Quinn has managed to survive and thrive with the Joker, balancing their precarious relationship and making a name for herself in Gotham.  But when a major mishap lands them both back in Arkham, what happens when Harley is separated from her beloved's twisted influence and slowly starts to see the light?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. locked up tight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! I recently became obsessed with the Joker and Harley's relationship and absolutely had to explore the specifics! This fic takes place about half a year after Harleen was transformed into Harley. I hope you enjoy; kudos and comments will let me know if I should continue this project so please support :)

White, black, and red swirled in front of her, combining briefly before disappearing down the drain. Hands cuffed behind her back and swaying drowsily from sedatives, fiery Harley Quinn was being taken away, leaving only broken Harleen Quinzel in her stead. The orderlies that scrubbed away the makeup had been told to be extremely careful because of her volatile nature stemming from the Joker, but they needn’t have bothered with the additional precautions.  Her entire being was drained from the day’s events, making Harley perhaps the most compliant prisoner in all of Arkham.

After her pale skin had turned pink from the hot water, she was fitted for a jumpsuit.  _Just like the one J wore when we first met_ , Harley thought tiredly.  An image of the Joker sitting at a cold, metal table sporting the bright orange uniform burned in her brain.  She could not think of him for very long without tears welling up.  Harley had grown to resent the ease at which she cried; J was always quick to punish those who were weak. 

Orderlies, nurses, and a few psychiatrists spoke to her as she was ushered from room to room.  They treated her many cuts and bruises, set a few bones, and wrapped both of her ankles in tape, always chattering away.  She paid no attention to anyone, even those she knew from her time spent as a psychologist at Arkham. 

Harley was fixated on what happened prior to her admittance to the asylum; the Joker’s face set in a feral snarl jabbed at her thoughts. There had been nothing but pure hatred in his eyes before he was taken away from her.  The physical pain he inflicted as punishment was nonexistent compared to the torment of his disappointment.  There was no doubt in her mind that he was still livid and pacing in his cell with quick, jerky movements.  He had probably already taken out a few Arkham employees in his rage.  Harley’s head hung low as she was guided into her own cell. She could not have fucked up more.

The concrete room was small and reminiscent of her old college dorm but without the luxury of a desk and company of a roommate. One tattered single bed bolted to the floor was placed in a corner.  A sturdy looking sink and a relatively clean toilet were the only other fixtures to fill the space.  Harley collapsed onto the bed gratefully, her head spinning from the medley of drugs they had administered.   

She was far away from the other prisoners, male and female alike.  Their groans and incessant mumbles were barely audible.  Harley was thankful for the special treatment that being the Joker’s right hand and an ex-employee of the asylum granted her; labeled as extremely dangerous with an in-depth knowledge of the institution assured that she would be kept apart from anyone whom she could use to escape.  Harley was merely glad for the time alone to process her thoughts.

She stretched out slowly and took inventory of each of injury, trying to avoid remembering the moments she received them. But the flood of images was impossible to put off for long.  The second Harley closed her eyes, she was transported to the top of one of Gotham’s seediest nightclubs, The Nest.

 

_Back to back guns blazing with the love of her life was exhilarating.  They were both laughing as the gunfire filled the night air. She was dressed to the nines in a red and black corset pulled tight and a short leather mini skirt. He was impeccable in his trademark purple suit.  They made for a frightening couple._

_It was a run-of-the-mill job, a seemingly safe night out.  Whenever one of the mobs of Gotham got a little too greedy or a little too big for their own good, J took a personal interest in knocking them back down to size. Harley agreed that the only formidable foe of Gotham should be the Joker, but she knew instinctively that her partner craved the attention from Batman and grew restless whenever the hero chose to spend time fighting someone else._

_“We’re almost finished, Harl!”  The Joker let out another roar of crazed laughter as bodies tumbled over the side of the building or simply fell twitching to the ground._

_Harley’s face lit up at the pet name and she redoubled her efforts, picking off each dark figure that dared to advance towards them.  “Only three more on my half!”  She yelled over the sound of cascading bullets, “make that two!”_

_But a convulsive tremor that ran through J made her falter.  Was he shot?  Harley knew better than to turn around and assess.  They were still under fire and whatever had happened he would handle it just as he handled everything else._

_She let out a relieved breath when his back pressed harder against her own and he resumed shooting, but her consolation was short lived.  Harley gasped as a winged shadow crept along the edge of the roof. The Batman had come to play._

_Did J know? Or was his shudder the result of subconsciously sensing his archenemy?  Harley bit her lip, watching the Bat move lithely among the shadows.  The few mob henchmen that remained did not miss her momentary lapse of inaction. Harley screamed as a bullet hurtled past her ear and buried itself into the back of the Joker’s right shoulder._

_She felt him stumble forward, his animalistic howl of pain awakening something inside of her. Harley turned to him and fell to her knees, dimly aware that the mobsters had scattered._

_“You FUCKING BITCH!” He screamed and whipped around, grabbing her by her pigtails and yanking her to her feet.  Harley’s eyes burned from a sudden onslaught of tears, triggered not from his words but from his obvious pain._

_“The B-Batman,” she managed to sob, “he’s here!”  Harley couldn’t move her head to find him because of the Joker’s iron grip, but she guessed that was why the roof was nearly empty._

_"You,”_ slap _, “let,”_ slap _, “me,”_ slap _, “get shot!”  His face hovered above hers and his red lips drew back from his teeth into an awful sneer. She winced and shook her head numbly, too distraught by his injury and the fact that the Batman was going to snatch him and worsen it to fight back._

_The Joker dropped her abruptly, her body collapsing into a graceless heap on the ground. Harley’s eyes opened just in time to see the Batman colliding with her love and both men tumbling to the other side of the roof.  She let out a small sniffle and attempted to stand, but the darkness that flirted around the edges of her vision surged forward and Harley fell once more._

 

She curled into a ball under the thin blanket that Arkham _graciously_ provided. How could she have been so negligent? Her true calling was to protect J and she had failed miserably, managing to land them both back in the asylum.

Harley’s fists clenched and unclenched at her stupidity. She should not have been so easily distracted. J could have _died_ and then her life would have been over as well. Harley would not blame him if he escaped and left her to rot; she deserved whatever punishment he had in mind.

She knew other things had happened after she blacked out. Somehow, they had been transported to Arkham and somehow, she had been beaten more savagely than a couple of slaps. The Batman would not have dealt such brutal blows that broke her ribs and collarbone.  She was fairly certain that her brain was blocking out _those_ particular memories. Harley dreaded the moment they came back.

“J,” she whispered into the mattress, “I’m so sorry.” She pressed her face down and tried to control the racking tremors that shook her body. “So sorry, so sorry, so sorry…”

Harley felt miserable and _oh_ so small.  She had spent the past six months becoming badass Harley Quinn who killed, stole, and lied without so much as a bat of the eye.  She felt invincible when she was in her new outfit and makeup, as if she _belonged_ next to the Joker.  She had made so much progress.

But that was gone now.

Harley was raw and vulnerable, just as she was when the Joker first laid eyes on her.  She was once again Harleen Quinzel who was not special and had no control over her life, no control over what happened to her.  J had given her _power_ and goals. But she failed him and paid the price.

Her eyes squeezed shut once more and with the last of her willpower she shoved away the rest of the memories that threatened to overtake her. They would visit later, when she had more strength.

Harley knew she had a session early the next morning; the psychiatrists were practically _dying_ to analyze such a high profile, dysfunctional relationship. Her last thought before she lost consciousness was a steely resolve to stay true to J and refuse to give them what they want.  


	2. scream my name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos! Still trying things out so stay with me, this has been pretty fun to write

A dull, throbbing pain greeted Harley as she awoke, eyes blinking blearily up at the dismal ceiling.  Her blanket was curled up into a ball at the foot of the bed and she shivered from the constant blasts of A/C that made her cell feel as if she was out in Gotham during late fall. 

Harley sat up and crossed her legs as she tried to pinpoint the source of the pain. Of course, she was sore everywhere and her fractured bones ached like no other, but this was new. She smacked her lips and found they tasted sharp, metallic.  Harley groaned at the discovery; she had bitten her tongue in her sleep. There was no doubt that nightmares were to blame.  She was suddenly glad that she rarely remembered her dreams; Harley had a feeling they were not normal boogeyman scares.

She hopped onto the floor and dutifully made the bed out of habit.  The Joker thrived on chaos, but he always appreciated her efforts to ensure that whatever grimy hideout they were forced to stay in was as clean as she could make it (and the part of her that was still Harleen was unflinchingly tidy).  Once the blanket was pulled tight and the limp pillow fluffed to her liking, she stepped to the sink to wash the blood from her mouth. 

The water ran clear after a few swishes; it was not a gaping wound but she had bitten down on her tongue hard enough to leave a small, aggravating fissure. Harley sighed and looked up to glare at the empty wall above the sink.  No mirror, naturally.  Savvy patients such as the Joker could smash them and use the shards of glass to cause all sorts of mischief.  But Harley merely wanted to check her reflection.

She looked around the bare room, already bored, when a loud knock caused her to gasp. A brief flash of fear coursed through her, but was quickly replaced by suspicion.  Harley cautiously padded to the small window near the front corner of the cell. 

Was it him? Her mind raced with possibilities, but was hastily shut down when a much more friendly face greeted her through the perforated, bulletproof glass.

“Dr. Rainsford,” Harley said flatly, “I’m flattered they sent _you_.” 

The elderly black man was the senior psychiatrist at Arkham, and one of Harley’s favorites when she worked there.  He always insisted they had coffee on Tuesdays and Thursdays to help each other with more difficult cases.  Harley was first exposed to the Joker during these little conferences; Dr. Rainsford was his main psychiatrist until she took over.

“Hello Dr. Quinzel,” he returned smoothly, his voice deep and calming. It could set even the most frenetic patients at ease; Harley had always been envious of that tiny advantage. Even so, she felt quite relieved at his presence and then agitated at her own response.  She was one of the most notorious faces in Gotham; she shouldn’t feel comforted by a man keeping her locked away!

Harley opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but was cut off by her old mentor.

“You are scheduled for your first assessment immediately following breakfast. We have not yet decided who best to treat you, so I will conduct it.”  He smiled a friendly smile full of straight, milky white teeth. “You will not be handcuffed during transportation because you have displayed no violent tendencies within these walls. However, privileges can and will be taken as we see fit.  Welcome to Arkham Asylum as a patient, Doctor.”

Harley’s eyes narrowed slightly at the words, but the good doctor did not seem to be mocking her; he had a genuine, welcoming tone.  However, she was used to being around those who could fake emotions and reactions well, so she bared her teeth in a feral grin.  Harley was pleased to see his pupils widen noticeably and his head move back from the glass.

“And what a pleasure it is to be back,” she purred, voice dripping with sarcasm. _What a fucking nightmare_ , she thought silently.  Harley could not wait to be free of the place.

Dr. Rainsford composed himself hurriedly and nodded to someone she could not see before stepping away.  A full minute passed before the door was unlocked and pushed open, revealing a decent sized orderly.

“Hi,” she chirped, suddenly excited at the prospect of breakfast.  A sullen glare was all she received for her cooperation before they trudged down the hallway toward the mess hall. 

Harley grew more and more wired with each step.  Would J be there?  Would he be happy to see her or would he ignore her?  She brought her hand to her mouth to chew on her fingernails before remembering that the Joker hated the habit and always made a point to _punish_.

Her mind cleared at the thought.  No, J would not be allowed anywhere near her.  Arkham may have been a corrupt institution incapable of keeping super-criminals like the Joker locked away for very long, but there was no possibility that they would allow the two in each other’s vicinity.  She was both disappointed and relieved at the realization.

The orderly pushed open the double doors, Harley following curiously after him. She had never been inside any of the patient cafeterias, but was not surprised to find that it was as dull and dreary as every other room in the establishment.  Long tables with benches bolted to the floor forced the patients to sit near each other.  Harley was quite aware of how heavily the doctors _encouraged_ communication.

Her eyes darted across each face, spotting familiars here and there but eventually confirming that she was not going to be exposed to _his_ presence.  Harley slipped into the food line and couldn’t help but snicker at the plastic cutlery they provided. She had seen the Joker perform gruesome murders with far less.  Arkham’s hope to keep potential weapons out of inmate’s hands was in vain.

She grabbed an aluminum plate (the lighter, the harder to bash in someone’s head) and glanced down, seeing her face dimly reflected in its sheen. Harley’s blue eyes had seemingly grown darker, the shadows more pronounced, and her face more angular. She had become a new woman in the past six months.

Peering closer at her reflection, Harley touched the cut across her forehead before gasping sharply. 

 

_The acrid taste of concrete mixed with old cigarette ashes filled her mouth and nose.  Coughing and clutching her sides, Harley scrambled to her feet.  Her head whipped from left to right as she attempted to get her bearings._

_“Haaaarley,” a throaty growl threatened before her lover’s wiry body enveloped her. “You ruined the job, pet,” the voice hissed, accompanied by a brutal squeeze that she felt was cracking her ribs._

_She had no breath available to protest, so she focused instead on the surroundings.  They were still on the roof, but Batman was nowhere in sight.  She felt lips brush across her ear as J constricted around her like a snake._

_All thoughts of Batman disappeared in the face of impending doom by strangulation. Just as her eyes began to glaze over, she was released._

_The Joker stepped away from her, doubling over and clutching his shoulder. Harley coughed hard and long, wilting under his glare._

_“You’ve gotten worse!”  She defended, gesturing toward his wound.  It was true. During all of the months they had been together, her J had come home with multiple bullet wounds, knife slashes, and chemical burns.  This was_ nothing _._

_Harley realized that was the wrong thing to say a second too late. He was upon her again and bringing a closed fist down hard on her shoulder.  She screamed in excruciating pain, trying hard not to fall to her knees. This was no “love tap” like his frequent swats that still left her bruised.  J had put all he had into this one._

_A shadow tore the Joker away from her unexpectedly with a deep grunt of exertion and then she was being lifted up, up, up…_

_A haze of images flickered through her brain, the inside of a helicopter and the veins of Gotham seen from high above.  She laid silently on the floor of the vehicle, watching the night fly past. Soon, the foreboding buildings of Arkham loomed over as she was gently lifted up and then set onto the ground._

_She looked up at Batman in horror, “go get him!”  Harley shrieked.  The thought of being left alone in the asylum while her partner, her_ maker _carried on without her was too much to bear._

_The hero did not glance down at her, but merely kept the same stony posture until flashlights and voices greeted them in the distance. He disappeared into the helicopter, hovering for a few seconds before flying over the surrounding wood._

_Harley laughed at the absurdity of the situation and watched as the pinpricks of light grew larger and larger._

_“It’s her,” came the whispers and excited murmurings.  Harley grimaced at the Arkham uniforms and her new fate. She had to end up back here! The irony of it all was the worst. Harley_ knew _she was doomed to at least a few months of needling into her villainous relationship and debut._

_The distant sound of a helicopter made her sit up rigidly. “J,” she breathed, ignoring the smattering of talk that came from her future captors.  Harley squinted at the darkness and smiled serenely when lights emerged over the trees._

_After a hasty landing, J’s unconscious form was set down a little roughly beside her.  A series of nods and a little exchange took place between the head orderly and Batman before he turned to go off to improve Gotham once more._

_Harley kept a hand on the Joker’s chest and her eyes on his arch nemesis. They locked gazes and she inclined her head slightly, expressing thanks that he had brought him back. The Batman merely stared dispassionately before he climbed inside the sleek, black machine._

_The last thing he heard before the roar of the helicopter blocked everything else was her soft laugh that curiously drew goosebumps to his skin._

A dull, throbbing pain greeted Harley as she awoke for the second time that day.  Only it was a knot on her head and not her tongue that was the culprit.  She sighed and sat up in the infirmary bed, a plump nurse staring at her furiously.

“What?” Harley snapped, attempting to raise her hand to rub at her eyes. But of course she was handcuffed to the bed.  No surprise there.

The matronly woman humphed and proceeded to bustle about the room checking machines. “Watch your tone, please,” she warned in a firm voice, obviously experienced with unruly inmates.

Harley ignored her for a few minutes before the curiosity began to burn deep in her belly. “What happened? Why am I in here?” She asked in a softer voice. Maybe that would get her some answers; she could play nice to satisfy a greater good.

The nurse glanced toward the door, always a good sign.  “You dropped like a rock in the breakfast hall, dear. They thought you fainted.”

Her eyes gleamed a little and her voice rose excitedly, “but then you started to scream…”

Harley’s eyes widened and the memory filled her mind once more.  Random details like the sound of Bat’s cape flapping on the roof and the exact shade of black J’s eyes were when they finally lolled open on Arkham grounds stood out the most. 

The nurse looked at her expectantly, as if she would have an explanation for the fit. “That’s certainly strange,” Harley said carefully.  She wondered what sort of impact this episode would have on her treatment.

“You were screaming so much,” the woman said in a rush, drawing closer to her bed, “I could hear you from the infirmary office, you were telling _him_ to stop.”

Harley felt a sudden wave of nausea roll over her.  There was no doubt she had been crying for J to let go, a subconscious reaction to the memory of being nearly strangled.  This was not going to be good.  If they were against letting the Joker near her before, they were certainly opposed to it now.  _They may even send him to another facility_.  Harley gulped and swayed slightly.  What had she done?

“That is quite enough.”

The nurse froze and turned her head slowly.  “I-I apologize Dr. Rainsford,” she stammered. 

Harley glared at her, ignoring the new figure in the room, until she inched out of the doorway with a meek nod.

“She had no right to tell you that under such informal circumstances,” the doctor said furiously, shutting the door and shaking his head.  He pressed his fingers to his temples in a gesture that Harley had seen him do a million times.  It was a nearly universal symbol of frustration.

“I came to see how you were doing and to share some good news,” he explained, taking a seat in a chair near the IV, “but I understand if this new revelation has upset you. It was going to be addressed during your first session.”

Harley studied him warily, her thoughts a jumble from the day’s events.  She wasn’t sure if she could take anymore surprises, but she figured that it would be best to get them all out of the way.

“Shoot, Doc.”

He hesitated and then nodded, lips turning up at the edges.  “I’ve found the perfect fit for you, Harleen.  She just landed an hour ago from a renowned practice in New Mexico. I believe you two will make _progress_.” He emphasized the word with obvious reverence.  Progress _was_ a sort of mystical goal that all workers in psychology strove for.

Harley felt herself smiling slightly, if only to please him.  “Great,” she said, leaning back down to rest her head on the pillow.  “How lovely, can’t wait.”

Dr. Rainsford felt their conversation drawing to a close, so he stood up, straightening his tie.  “We will help you, Harleen,” he assured in a booming voice.

“But are you so sure about helping _him_?” Harley questioned quietly, eyes focusing just enough to see a slightly unnerved expression flash across his face.

He shook his head.  “Harleen, your incident this morning did not go unnoticed by the other patients. Particularly the one most involved.” His face darkened and he shook his head again, faster as if to clear away a memory.  “He was being walked to a separate eating chamber when the commotion first started,” the doctor avoided her gaze, “and he heard you.”

 


End file.
